


Near Enough

by Andraste



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-02
Updated: 2004-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/pseuds/Andraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was her fault, for taking her gloves off so they wouldn't get wet when she wiped her eyes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Near Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Sexual material that some readers may find disturbing. Read at your own risk.

It was her fault, for taking her gloves off so they wouldn't get wet when she wiped her eyes. She tells herself that every time she strips them off for him.

They don't often touch, but sometimes she likes to run a fingernail across his cheek, or trace lines on his skull. She grows them long just for that - it's not like she needs to play the piano anymore. Fingernails are safe and dead, just like the hair she lets fall across his face. And then, sometimes, she lays the palm of her hand against him, takes him by surprise. After all, Charles always knows what's going on inside _her_ head. Fair is fair.

He never touches her in return, not since the first day, when he found her crying in the library and took her bare hand without thinking. She still doesn't know if it was a real accident, or if his subconscious was trying to tell them both something. Either way, that's how they got started: holding hands.

It all poured into her head at once, faster than anyone else's mind, ever. The way he felt about Erik, about his lover turning him into a weapon. The way he felt about their last fight with the Brotherhood, about what Rogue had to do. The way he felt about Jean, when she was less than Marie's age, and then on and on and on until she died and he never told her. The way he looked at Kitty, Jubilee, Dani.

The way he looked at her, trying not to look at all.

And maybe she _should_ have been horrified, just like he was, but she was tempted instead.

She's known from that first moment that this doesn't have much to do with Erik Lensherr, whatever Charles might like to tell himself. He'd mostly faded out of her mind a few months after forcing himself on her, and even if he hadn't ... Erik never needed protection. Erik never had big, brown needy eyes or the clean, sweet, deadly skin of a mutant teenage girl. If it had really been Erik that he wanted, she'd never have gone along with it. But he wanted _her_, really her, which was something she hadn't felt since she touched David.

So she thought things over, took a deep breath, and she - not exactly lied. Got a little creative with the truth, maybe. She said that she didn't feel like a kid anymore since she sucked Carol Danvers dry, that she was too old on the inside for anyone but him to understand what she was going through. That she couldn't deal with knowing what was going on in everyone's heads - that Logan wanted Jean, Bobby wanted John, John wanted nothing but the fire. That she'd been so lonely since everyone her age went away to school and she went on her first mission and her world shattered all over again. That she wanted _him_. Charles made himself believe her, even if he knew better.

Sometimes Marie wonders what it is that she gets out of this, but never when she's lying on his bed as he plays her like a violin. He knows how to pluck the nerves in her brain until she'd scream the house down if he hadn't turned off her voice. Sometimes she wonders what _he_ gets out of this, since he always keeps his clothes on. She wonders if he wants more, although with his spine sliced through she wouldn't be sure where to start. It's not something he thinks about enough for her to pick up on it.

Afterwards, he always tells her gently that she needs to leave, and so far she's never argued. He has a habit of kissing her hand after she puts her gloves back on that always make her blush like the schoolgirl she still almost is. She has the same reaction when he absently calls her princess. It's not like their relationship is exactly romantic, but it's nice to think that in some other life it maybe could have been.

She loves him, or at least the tiny sliver of Erik that's swimming in her skull does. He was almost gone when all of this started, but he hasn't decayed any further. She wonders if it's something about his powers, or because he's s stubborn son of a bitch, or because Charles gave him some ... help. She doesn't know which possibility bothers her most.

She hates him, too, but not the way that Erik hates him. The hate is all from Charles himself. It's a complex, mature emotion. Not something she can shake off easily.

Bit by bit, he's taking a hold on her from inside of her skin.

All those little touches, all that time he spends in her head, it's starting to add up. Lately she's been acing her tests at the local community college by accident, and she has to be careful to keep her mouth shut in class. Pretty often now, she finds herself watching Kitty or one of the other schoolgirls with something other than sisterly interest. Sometimes she dreams his darker dreams, feels what it's like to reach out and kill with a thought.

She's absorbing his intelligence, his desires, maybe even some of his abilities. The trouble is, she's not sure she has his control. She hopes that if she touches him enough, some of that will come across too.

One night, she kisses him on the forehead before she goes and says: you won't leave me, will you? Groggy from her draining him, even just a little, he looked up at her and answered: where would I go? Neither of them has anywhere special to be. This place is a haven for cripples and freaks, and the most broken ones never leave. She knew from the moment she got here that there was nowhere else for her to go. Now she knows that there's no _one_ else, either, for her or for Charles.

Marie needs someone, and God knows there's no Prince Charming waiting for her. They're all off chasing dead damsels under lakes, or other handsome princes. She's starting to think they're not all they're cracked up to be, anyway.

She feels like a princess, alright, trapped in the tower of her own poison flesh. Every night, he opens the door and sets her free. Or as close as she'll ever get.

It's going to have to be near enough.


End file.
